


You Fucked Up

by Sarcastic_Raspberry



Category: Life Is Strange (Video Game)
Genre: Abusive Relationships, It's not necessarily forceful rape as it is manipulative, Other, POV Second Person, There's no description of the actual act of Rape, personal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-03
Updated: 2016-03-03
Packaged: 2018-05-24 11:42:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6152570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sarcastic_Raspberry/pseuds/Sarcastic_Raspberry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The deconstruction of Nathan and his relationship with Mark Jefferson.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Fucked Up

You were pissed, as per usual, and he hated you. You knew he hated you. You could see it in his eyes, those _ burning  _ eyes. It was that look you’d seen so many times from so many teachers. He wasn’t any different. The truly surprising occurred while you were turning to leave the classroom. Your book bag swung a bit harder than intended, spilling some photos on the ground. Your photos.

“Oh, here, let me help,” he said as he kneeled to begin shifting them slowly.

You were immediately appalled. No one was supposed to see those. “How did those get in there!?” you asked, frantically stooping down yourself to pull up what you could.

The repulsion you’d expected from him never came as he turned one of the photos over in his hands and began looking at it. You were tempted to snatch it away before he could see who you really were. Before he could see through your eyes. However, he merely offered the photo with an affectionate grin.

“This shooting is exquisite, Nathan,” he said. The chuckle from his mouth was one of a kind gesture as he held the picture out to you in a warm, delicate grip. “You really have a gift.”

You didn’t want to believe him, of course, but you were drawn in. There was something of a halo surrounding him, engulfing you as you were pulled in closer. He wasn’t like others. He was different.

And so, you met his hand with the same delicacy as you managed the words, “Thank you.”

That was it, I suppose. The day you fell in love with Mark Jefferson.

* * *

 

It was small, at first. He’d asked you to sign up for fieldtrips, things no teacher’s pushed on you before. While most students fluttered off to their own agendas, you stayed by his side and took photos under his guiding hand. He directed your attention towards your female classmates, but you didn’t think anything of it at the time. Just a snap here of some girl’s turned back, or another of some laughing at something the lense didn’t capture. 

He seemed to encourage your less acceptable acts as well, even telling you to indulge every now and again. You felt like a true child whenever he’d pat you on the back, nudging you down a hill or slope in search of the carrion or road kill he spotted for you at the bottom.

Then there was another time when he invited you out of his own accord. Something of a small get together with other artists from your class. You weren’t too sure, but ended up going anyway. I wish you hadn’t, but you did. 

He said that he invited two others, but didn’t give names. They didn’t show up. You grew awkward in a matter of minutes, as being in such a foreign place struck every nerve in your body. All it took was one hand laid firmly on your upper arm to convince you to stay.

The palm was so warm and controlling at the slightest touch. You wanted more of that.

So you continued coming over. First every week, then every other day. He was so kind, so considerate. The only other person you’d felt like this with was Victoria. You and her would talk about your problems occasionally. In a rare moment of reminiscence, you must have tried replicating that moment by discussing a problem. Maybe it was about school, or classmates, or the teacher that had written you up. It hardly matters.

“Must we really talk about this?” he asked, setting his mug onto the coffee table. “I mean, heh, it’s a bit of a small problem, isn’t it?”

You took it to heart, eyes widening as you looked to the desk. “I’m sorry.”

He smiled, crossing the room and patting your head. If he didn’t want to listen, you didn’t have to talk.

As long as the touching didn’t stop.

* * *

 

Rachel and Chloe were fun, you’d never deny that. Rachel was tender touches and the sun.

You saw Victoria staring at her a few times, as if she was afraid of losing her friend. You reassured her, but that’s all you really could do.

Chloe was harsh edges and death metal. 

The Vortex Club welcomed her initially, and you asked Victoria to give her a shot. That went down as expected, as did your friendship with the rebel. You wanted to tell her you were sorry for kicking her out, for ostracizing her from your group.

She responded with a “Fuck you,” and dropped out soon after.

You stopped going to the junkyard after that. About a week later, you started crying out of the blue. You cried in front of him.

He listened that time, nodding his responses from the opposite end of the couch. You’d been upgraded from the seat perpendicular to where he sat, and now you just had to turn to look at him. It was when you weren’t looking that he surprised you.

He’d moved up the sofa, reaching out and pulling you in. This touch was new. It was all over and burned in a way you’d never felt. It was an inferno that consumed and devoured you, swallowing you whole.

His hands moved up and down your back, and you let them. You flinched when one of them crossed up to the nape of your neck. It trailed back down, only to return. This time, you tensed entirely and gave a meak attempt at pulling away. His grip loosened and you assumed he was letting you go. That’s what you assumed.

Then you pulled back and he kissed you on the head. He kissed you on the forehead, and then he took your face in his left hand and turned you to face the side. It was as if he was framing you with his eyes. There was another kiss pressed, this one along your jaw.

You whimpered at that sensation. It felt wonderful.

That was the first time you questioned what being a son meant to him.

* * *

 

Being a son of Mark Jefferson meant being there when he needed you. There were off comments about things he needed. When you showed sympathy for those feelings, he’d reward you with more touches. More wonderful.

In return, you became his go-between for Frank. Frank was nice enough. That is, after Rachel put in a good word for you. You two didn’t talk too much, but that was fine. She was always at Frank’s when you went over, rubbing up on his dog or smiling at you from a chair beside his RV as he produced the drugs you needed. Sometimes, you’d smile back.

That stopped when you started doing more for _ him. _

You see, we know when you started these favors, but it’s hard to tell when it escalated. Soon enough, you were hiring renovators for the old bomb shelter under your family’s barn.

His dark room, our dark room, your dark room. Together, framed in the dark. He called you his light.

You loved that, being the light. No longer the weight of the past or a burden, but a beacon of the present for Mark to praise.

And praise you he did. The more you accomplished for him, the more you were touched. He stroked with his hands and pecked with his lips.

Once the room was finished, he wanted you to be his first model. You declined rather quickly, and he gave you a disappointed look, but didn’t push. After all, he respected you. Didn’t he?

He did.

Didn’t he?

* * *

 

I wish I could tell you more about this part.

But you don’t remember anything, do you? You were always forgetting things. It’s your fault for not being stronger.

Strength is the right of passage to knowledge. The stronger you were, the more you would remember.

It’s your fault for not remembering, not his.

* * *

 

“You fucked it up,” he said, pacing behind you. “You fucked it up, Nathan.”

You were holding a camera and now that camera was on the ground while Rachel sat in front of you, head slumped forward. He wanted you to get a shot of her, to steady your hand and prepare you for your future as his equal. You went to the other room for a mere moment. You just needed your camera out of your bag.

When you came back, her mouth was foaming. You immediately started to panic. He was angry for the first time that you’d seen, holding her face as she looked at you and shudders wracked through her body.

Now she was gone and he was calm again, pacing behind you and reminding you of everything you’d done. She overdosed thanks to you.

“It’s all your fault,” he said.

As he paced, you thought you heard a click behind you, but you didn’t turn around to see what it was. Then a pain blossomed through your neck and you were falling onto your side, gasping for air. You wanted to cry out for his help, even as he stood over you.

And yet, his voice was the most reassuring thing you’d ever heard as he told you, “Just sleep. Everything will be taken care of. Don’t worry. I’ll clean up your mess.”

When you woke up, you could feel a hand brushing through your hair. Your back ached and your body felt like you’d just come down from the worst hangover of your life. Still, there was that hand in your hair. That hand brushed through your hair so gently before catching on a stray knot, tugging and pinching at your scalp.

You opened your eyes soon enough and found yourself in his house. You were lying in his lap, and he was looking down at you with a straight face. He noticed you were awake and only then did he smile down at you.

“Don’t worry, Nathan,” he said, “I cleaned up your mess.”

Though you’d only just woken up, you feel exhausted, allowing him to pet you and hold you close. He was all you had now.

* * *

 

Kate was a whole other element. He let you dominate the process, telling you that you were wrong when necessary. That seemed to be often. He also let you manage all of the doses, not just one. You could see that these drugs were less diluted than the others as you drew the dosage up the needle. Hands shaking, you were as delicate with Kate as you wish you had been with Rachel. You didn’t want to see that hateful look from her. Never from Kate. You just wanted her to be safe.

You wanted her to make it out of this and you wanted him to be happy with you. Of course, she appeared more dazed as she smiled at the camera. You could hear her talking sometimes, singing slow songs about fire and judgement day.

“Very nice, Nathan,” Jefferson said as he moved back to his computer to print out the photos that you’d taken. “Very nice, indeed.”

You smiled at him gently before you turned your eyes back to Kate. “Should I take her back now?”

He froze, raising his head slowly to peer at you, one eyebrow raised. “What was that now?”

“Well, I mean, she’s pretty out of it right now,” he said. “I think this is a good time to get her back, right?”

He gave you a skeptical look before his eyes shifted over to Kate. You thought you felt fear, but that couldn’t have been true. He couldn’t scare you after all he’d done for you. Finally, he chuckled and rose with a smile.

“Of course,” he said as he crossed the room and stood in front of you. A smile flickered across your lips before that fell and you looked up at him in awe. His hand rose, cupping your cheek. “But, I want you to come back right afterwards, alright?”

You nodded slowly at first, but then your eyelids fluttered and you pulled away towards Kate. He didn’t move to help you with her this time. That was strange, but you shrugged it off. He was busy after all.

And as you laid Kate against the wall beside her dorm room, you couldn’t help but think she was lucky. You still don’t know why you thought that.

* * *

 

You thought he was angry when Rachel died.

He was furious now. You knew there was a welt on your back. He apologized for that. It wouldn’t happen if you weren’t so soft, you reprimanded yourself.

You were too soft.

That’s why you let Kate go.

That’s why you let Chloe go.

You just wanted to make him proud. He loved you for Kate. He loved you. So how could he have hurt you far worse than your father ever had?

You flinched when he brought his hand up again. You rose an arm to shield yourself and you didn’t put it down, guarding your face and shuddering as you tried to breathe. He lowered his hand when he saw that. But he reassured you that he wouldn’t be able to fix it this time. You had to deal with Chloe yourself.

* * *

 

That’s how you ended up here, staring down at the body on the ground that could have easily been you.

You did it for love.

You did it for him.

He didn’t ask you to stand here. He didn’t ask you to hear out her request. He didn’t ask you to take control.

You did this.

I did this.

We did this.


End file.
